Been absent forever, seemingly.
Do you ever get the feeling that the pills aren’t working anymore? I feel like things have gotten worse as the months have gone by. I wake up exhausted, or I wake up miserable. Pick one. Not much of a choice these days.
Do you ever get the feeling that the pills aren’t working anymore? I feel like things have gotten worse as the months have gone by. I wake up exhausted, or I wake up miserable. Pick one. Not much of a choice these days.
I either dream vividly of a life I’m not leading or have nightmares I can’t remember. I just know I wake up sweating and terrified, and the warmth of a body next to me only helps a little. Just a little. Do I think this is okay? Not really. BPD is slowly taking over my life. I almost miss my manic phases, just because at least (at the very fucking least) I could be productive. I know my bosses like me manic because I’m shooting ideas off in every direction but at the same time, I don’t sleep for days on end. I don’t sleep much either. Recently, I can’t sleep before 4am and I hate waking up before noon. Not productive, so unproductive. Everything is starting to feel like a repetition. Rinse and repeat, hello again.
Do I want to wake up and despise everything? No. The problem with mental illness - chronic invisible illnesses, anyway - is that no one sees it. “I’m depressed” doesn’t carry the same weight as something more tangible. I’m so listless and it’s just a clusterfuck of “what’s the point”.
People tell me to come talk to them but talking to them feels like pulling teeth without anaesthesia. Not only do I have to go the extent of explaining myself but there’s a 80% chance they won’t get it or they’ll tell me to get over it. Neither of those things make me feel very good about myself. I can’t even go out and socialise since the idea of socialising gives me anxiety.
Fuck me, fuck this and fuck everything.
Do I want to wake up and despise everything? No. The problem with mental illness - chronic invisible illnesses, anyway - is that no one sees it. “I’m depressed” doesn’t carry the same weight as something more tangible. I’m so listless and it’s just a clusterfuck of “what’s the point”.
People tell me to come talk to them but talking to them feels like pulling teeth without anaesthesia. Not only do I have to go the extent of explaining myself but there’s a 80% chance they won’t get it or they’ll tell me to get over it. Neither of those things make me feel very good about myself. I can’t even go out and socialise since the idea of socialising gives me anxiety.
Fuck me, fuck this and fuck everything.